


sticky sweet

by annejumps



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Pennywise (IT), Cabin Fic, Exes, Getting Back Together, Halloween, Halloween Costumes, Homophobic Language, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Power Outage, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:08:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27320215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annejumps/pseuds/annejumps
Summary: Eddie, his childhood best friend. His first kiss. His first love. His high school boyfriend. Who’d broken up with him. Stuck in a cabin in the woods overnight with Eddie.Terrible idea. Horrible idea.Okay, so the other five Losers would be there too. But still.[Spoiler alert: The other five Losers won't be there.]
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 8
Kudos: 151





	sticky sweet

**Author's Note:**

> It's still Halloween west of here, damn it!

Halloween, to Richie, was no fun anymore.

He was thirty-five, for one, and he had no kids—the only way a woman could have gotten his sperm was if she’d gotten it from a used condom in the trash(mouth) can after one of his Casual Encounters, and he thinks he probably would have noticed that—so trick-or-treating lost its appeal around the same time his growth spurts really started to get going. Halloween parties had even lost their certain luster—stumbling home drunk in the remnants of some costume or other got sadder and more difficult as the years went by, the hangovers gradually but noticeably more grueling. 

All that said, when Bill sent out an Evite (really, who still sent Evites? Fuck’s sake, Bill) inviting people to Ben’s cabin in the woods (oooh, creepy) for Halloween night, with the rest of the ol’ Losers gang, Richie found himself not wanting to say no.

Even if, or maybe because, Eddie had already RSVP’ed.

Eddie, his childhood best friend. His first kiss. His first love. His high school boyfriend. Who’d broken up with him. Stuck in a cabin in the woods overnight with Eddie. 

Terrible idea. Horrible idea. 

Unlike their other annual-ish Losers meetups, this would not be a brunch he could easily get away from when he couldn’t take being near Eddie without being with him anymore by claiming he had to call his manager, or a dinner he could leave by saying he had an early pitch meeting the next day. This was spending the night. Because whenever he’d spent the night with Eddie, it had been secret but totally innocent (well, mostly) after one of them had snuck into the other’s room. They’d slept in the same bed, kissed, fumbled around, but the other was always gone by dawn. The thought of sleeping for the whole night in the same place as Eddie, something he’d never really accomplished when they were together, still held that tantalizing appeal of the forbidden.

Okay, so the other five Losers would be there too. But still. 

After their breakup, after Eddie had moved away, a heartbroken, shattered Richie had dragged what remained of himself off to college somehow. Sure, teen angst. But he’d never totally gotten over Eddie. He didn’t think that was possible, really. Yeah, he’d been in relationships, he’d had boyfriends, some kinda serious. And he was thirty-five now. But he could never escape the suspicion that he was always trying—and failing—to find Eddie again. Of course, he never _said_ that to anybody. He especially didn’t say that when he learned via Bill that Eddie was engaged, to some woman named Myra; he was planning the wedding and everything. And he didn’t say it when Bill mentioned that Eddie’s engagement had been broken and he wasn’t getting married after all. Bill, unlike Stan, Bev, Mike, and Ben, was clueless enough to not get how Richie had really felt about Eddie, even when they’d been together. He knew, but he didn’t _know_. So he didn’t think anything of mentioning it, just thought he was filling Richie in on the news with an old friend. 

Anyway, four of the other five Losers probably could look pityingly at him while he stood around trying not to look at Eddie too often, all night. As they… wore costumes and roasted marshmallows… and told scary stories to each other…? What were they going to be doing out there, anyway, in their mid-thirties? Whatever. They were the Losers, they always came up with something and enjoyed it no matter how lame it might seem to everyone else. Richie had missed being that way. 

With a sigh, he clicked Yes on the Evite.

Ben, for some reason, had a cabin in Maine, the crime scene for so many of their unpleasant youthful moments. Richie made a mental note to ask why the fuck he’d done that. Maine was pretty, sure—downright gorgeous, but still, was it worth it? After he rented a car at the airport and made his way under steel-gray skies to the address he’d been given, way the fuck out in the sticks, he was free to ponder that question for hours, and wish he’d gotten in at the same time as at least one other person so he wouldn’t have had to be alone on this drive. Whatever, he’d get his fill of being around them soon enough.

When he arrived, he saw that someone was already there, someone who’d driven a big SUV. Really, it could be any of them. As he got out and grabbed his bag, he winced at just how fucking cold it had gotten. Sure, it was cold in Chicago, but something about New England cold got right into your bones. It was starting to get dark, too—this far north, this time of year, the sun set ridiculously early, and Richie remembered never feeling ready for it. 

Suddenly, the door opened, and Eddie came storming out, mouth a thin line and brows drawn. “Rich,” he said, “there’s no power.”

Richie stopped in his tracks, mind still trying to catch up with the fact that Eddie was right in front of him, small and intense, wrapped up in a down jacket with a beanie hat. “What?”

Stopping in front of him, Eddie folded his arms. “I said there’s no power.”

“There’s no power,” Richie repeated slowly. His bag felt like it weighed a thousand pounds.

“And,” Eddie continued, hands on his hips, “I texted Ben, because what the fuck, and he said he’d have to call the power company, and they’re not open, he says the generator must be out of gas if it didn’t come on, and, AND, he’s not even in Boston yet.”

Richie felt his bag slump down his shoulder. “He’s what?”

“And— AND— None of the others are on their way either. Everyone’s stuck, flights are delayed because of that Nor’easter we just missed. Did you not get any texts from anybody? What the fuck, Rich?”

Richie hastily dug around in his coat pocket. “Shit,” he said, observing his phone, which he’d turned off when he got on the plane and then forgotten to turn back on—probably because he’d been distracted thinking about the very person now right in front of him. “No, I didn’t. Fuck.” He turned it on, and shortly the chilly air rang with the sound of a shitload of backed-up messages, like his phone was having an attack of diarrhea. He noticed he barely had a signal—kind of a miracle he had one at all. 

Eddie huffed and shook his head. “Come on,” he said, turning to go back up the stairs. “There’s a fireplace but I need you to help me.”

Richie nearly dropped his bag. “I’m sorry, what? You need _me_ to what, help you start a fire? Eds. Stan was the Boy Scout, not me.”

“Rich, did you miss the part where we’re the only ones here? I need you to help get the logs in here. Ben has a freezer chest with some venison, but frozen stuff is only good for forty-eight hours after loss of power—” of course Eddie would know that— “and he doesn’t know when it went out. He said he had MREs and other stuff we could cook over the fire in the pantry.”

“Great,” Richie sighed, following Eddie into the chilly, dark cabin. Eddie had a lantern out, but it didn’t cast too much light—it was already fairly dark out. “Could we siphon off gas from our cars to run the genny?” He’d filled up at the last gas station he saw, the one sensible thing he did, knowing how few and far between service stations were out here.

Eddie gave him a withering look. “First of all, do you even know how to siphon gas?” Richie slowly shook his head. “Second of all, we need the gas to get out of here.”

“Wanna leave now, find a hotel somewhere?” Richie set his bag down.

“I checked, there’s not a hotel anywhere nearby. If we’re here, we might as well stay at least one night. I’m sick of driving.” Eddie gestured in the general direction of outside. “There’s a shed to your right as you walk out that’s full of firewood. I need you to get those logs in here.”

“Yessir,” Richie said, saluting.

By the time he’d brought in all of it and was dusted with bark and the occasional spiderweb, Eddie had a fire going, brow furrowed in concentration. “Luckily the chimney seems clear,” he remarked, standing up fully and putting his hands on his hips as he surveyed Richie. “Wash your hands,” he said absently, “and we’ll go look in the pantry to see what we can eat.”

Richie did, in the kitchen. At least the water was still running. The pantry seemed well stocked with canned goods, which Eddie inventoried aloud. Richie, who’d never been a particularly picky eater, told Eddie whatever he wanted to heat up was fine. When they went back into the main room, cans of vienna sausages and baked beans in hand, the space was already warmer.

In front of the fireplace was a couch, which looked to be a fold-out bed. Richie wondered if Eddie had noticed. He glanced around the place, in the edges that weren’t quite touched by the firelight, and observed two doors, probably the bedrooms. “Which one do you want?” he asked.

“Which one what?” Eddie asked from the floor, where he was opening the cans and pouring the contents into a saucepan to put over the trivet. 

“Which bedroom.”

Eddie stopped and stared at him. “We’re not using the bedrooms. It’ll be freezing in there, all the heat will be in here.”

“We’re…. Then where are we—”

“The couch, it’s a fold-out. I saw sheets in the closet.”

“We’re both—”

“Yes?” Eddie raised a brow like Richie was the biggest idiot on Earth. “We’ve slept in the same bed before, Rich.”

Richie blinked, and swallowed. “Well, yeah, but….”

“But nothing,” Eddie said. “Oh, I forgot to get bowls and utensils, can you go get those, please.”

Richie cleared his throat. “Yeah, be right back.” The light was poor in the kitchen, but he came back with bowls and spoons. “So,” he said, “what are you going as for Halloween?” Eddie gave him a Look, he grinned back, and it felt just like old times. “What, Eds, you didn’t bring a costume?”

“I did,” Eddie said, “but I’m not putting it on if it’s just us.”

“Oh, come on! You gotta be kidding. It’s Halloween, Eds! At least tell me what it is.”

“A vampire,” Eddie said, looking at him warily, like Richie was going to make fun of him.

“Aw, my little Eddie Munster,” Richie teased. Eddie made a face.

“Eddie Munster was a werewolf, not a vampire. And I’m basically Dracula. Whatever, what were _you_ gonna be, then, huh?”

“A zombie. I was gonna get Bev to do my makeup,” he replied.

“Oh? Did she know this?”

“I was gonna talk her into it!”

“I’m sure.” Eddie laughed, and moved to stir the food. “By the way, if you didn’t notice, Ben does have marshmallows, chocolate, and graham crackers, so it’s s’mores for dessert.”

“Fuck yes. Eds, hey, can you at least put the vampire teeth in?”

“Rich, come on. I can’t eat with those in. Sit down, stop hovering.” 

Richie sat down on the couch, hands in his pockets and shoulders hunched up. “Then put them in after we eat. Come on, you’d look cute.”

Eddie looked at him a little too long. “Yeah, maybe,” he finally said, and Richie swallowed again. Eddie got up from where he was crouched on the floor in front of the fire, and sat down next to him. Richie realized he was holding his breath, and tried to make himself relax. Eddie leaned back against the couch and closed his eyes with a sigh, like he was exhausted—he probably was. Richie ached suddenly to follow suit, but didn’t move, fighting the urge to lean back, to lean against Eddie. Eddie wouldn’t want that. 

Richie suddenly remembered the last time he’d been this close to Eddie—when Richie had cruelly retorted to something he’d said with something he didn’t mean, and Eddie had backed away like he’d been slapped, and had said, “Fuck you, Richie. Get the fuck away from me.” Now, Richie sat up more, curled up more into himself. He felt and heard Eddie shift.

“Still cold?” Eddie asked. “It’ll get warmer in here soon, plus some hot food will help.” He sat up to crane forward. “Should be ready shortly. Hey, thanks for bringing that firewood in here.”

“Yeah,” Richie said, quiet. He swallowed again. Eddie being nice just made him feel more like shit. Not that he didn’t deserve it—he knew he did, and probably always would, for what he’d done, what he’d said. _Snap out of it_ , he told himself, _or Eddie will ask what’s wrong_. “You bring any candy?” he asked. “We gotta trick or treat. It’s Halloween.”

“What, you want me to do your zombie makeup so we can do it right? You gotta be in costume too or you’re not getting any candy.”

Richie laughed. “I bet you could do it. I did bring it.” He pictured Eddie in front of him, face screwed up in concentration, painting his face by firelight. Close enough to kiss.

“Of course I could,” Eddie scoffed.

“Did you bring a cape, one of those ones with the high collar, and shit?” Richie asked. “Or are you not that kind of vampire?”

“I have a cape,” Eddie said. “I just went to Party City and got the most basic vampire shit. I told you, Dracula. Bela Lugosi or whoever.”

“So you’re not a sexy True Blood vampire—”

“Fuck you, I could be a sexy True Blood vampire—”

“—You’re too short,” Richie said, gleeful, laughing when Eddie shoved him.

“Fuck you,” he said again, but he was smiling, dimples on display in the firelight. Richie’s breath caught, and then Eddie’s mouth dropped open and he rushed to kneel in front of the fire, where the food was bubbling away. With a ladle, he dished it out, and handed Richie a bowl. “Careful, it’s hot.”

“No shit,” Richie said, taking it. Eddie rolled his eyes. “Thanks, Eds,” he added, sincere. “Ben have any alcohol here?” he half-joked as Eddie got up with his own bowl, passed Richie a spoon, and sat down again.

“As a matter of fact, he does,” Eddie said, and started to eat. “And to answer your question earlier, yes, I did bring candy.”

“Woo hoo,” Richie said around a spoonful of hot beans and vienna sausage. “Beans, s’mores, candy and booze. Gonna be a Pepto-Bismol kind of night.” Eddie laughed.

Richie found he was in fact hungry, and apparently so was Eddie; they polished off the food fairly quickly in companionable quiet that made Richie’s heart squeeze a little. Afterward, starting to warm up, Richie shed his coat and finally let himself sit back against the couch. He sighed as the ache started to melt from his bones. Eddie glanced over at him, set his bowl and spoon down, and sat back too. “Don’t fall asleep on me,” Eddie warned, and Richie, chuckling, shifted to lean on him and snore loudly. Eddie shoved him, laughing, and Richie laughed too, sitting back again where he’d been. It was, by now, fully dark out. “We’ll rest a few minutes and then we’ll do s’mores and get dressed.”

“Oh, you were serious about the costumes?” Richie teased.

“You want my candy, you gotta work for it,” Eddie said, and despite himself, Richie blushed, hoping it was too dark in here for Eddie to notice. 

“I want your candy, baby,” he found himself saying, and played it off as all a big absurd joke with a leer and a lecherous grin. Typical Richie Tozier, et cetera. Eddie narrowed his eyes, but didn’t move away.

Before Richie knew it, Eddie was shoving him and telling him to wake up—he must have dozed off. “Told you not to fall asleep,” Eddie said, standing up. “Come on, let’s get the stuff for the s’mores.”

Then, for all the world like they were fifteen instead of thirty-five, he and Eddie sat down in front of the fire and roasted marshmallows. Eddie passed him graham crackers and chocolate, and he watched Eddie lick his fingers and his lips in the firelight. All he wanted to do was lean forward and kiss away the sweetness; several times he caught himself staring, and quickly looked away before Eddie might catch him. He realized Eddie was talking about the weather, hoping they wouldn’t get snow here like they were getting in Boston. 

“Yeah,” Richie said when Eddie looked at him, expecting a response. 

Eddie licked the last of the marshmallow from his fingertips and then stood up. “Okay, I’ll get dressed first,” he said. For a wild moment Richie expected him to strip off right there in front of him, but instead Eddie went to his luggage and got out his costume, then headed with a flashlight for the cabin’s bathroom (thank God Ben had indoor plumbing). Then, Richie had to sit there thinking about Eddie getting naked behind that door. Mercifully, before he got too engrossed in that, Eddie was out again, in black pants, a white dress shirt, and a cape, his hair slicked back further, his face painted white, and fangs in his mouth. He flashed Richie a wide grin, showing off his teeth.

“Nice,” Richie said.

“Your turn,” Eddie told him. 

Richie’s “zombie costume” consisted of ragged, torn clothes with fake dirt and blood painted on. He walked back out of the bathroom to Eddie’s scrutiny; after Eddie nodded, Richie relaxed a little, and Eddie told him to get the makeup out and come sit on the couch. 

“Is that really necessary?” Richie tried. “I mean, you know what I am.”

“I put on makeup, you need it too,” Eddie countered. “Remember the candy, Rich.”

“Right, working for your candy,” Richie said, and sighed.

And then Richie tried to sit still, eyes closed, as Eddie stood between his legs and painted his face. He imagined, while trying valiantly not to, wrapping his arms around Eddie and pulling him into his lap.

“There,” Eddie finally said. Richie opened his eyes just before an unreadable expression flickered off of Eddie’s face. 

“You got some cold cream to get all of this off?” Richie asked.

“As a matter of fact, I do,” Eddie said, standing back.

“Make with the candy already,” Richie said, standing up. 

“You gotta say ‘Trick or treat,’” Eddie countered, but he was walking over to his luggage.

“Such formality, Jesus,” Richie said. “Should I stand behind a door and knock on it? Want me to go outside?”

“Shut up,” Eddie said, digging through his bags.

“I’m going to feel pretty stupid just standing here without anything to put candy in, saying ‘Trick or treat.’”

“Somehow I don’t think feeling stupid is something you’re not used to,” Eddie said, pulling out a bag of mixed mini candy bars.

“Touche,” Richie said, holding out his hands as Eddie opened the bag and reached into it. “Trick or treat. Don’t give me any Special Darks, please.”

“You’ll take what I give you,” Eddie said, scooping out a handful of mini bars. Richie swallowed. With Eddie standing in front of him, their heads bowed, he found himself thinking again of how easy it would be to lean down and kiss him… and then he thought again about how Eddie wouldn’t want that, and he stepped back.

“You know, Eds,” he said, “I’d feel a lot less stupid right now holding candy in a Halloween costume at a party of two in the middle of nowhere with the power out if we had some booze.” Even as he said it, he realized getting anywhere near drunk out here with Eddie was a terrible idea, especially if they were going to sleep in the same bed, but by the time the words were out of his mouth, Eddie was already sighing, setting down the bag of candy, and walking back to the pantry, flashlight in hand. Richie picked up the bag, dumping his candy bars on the couch, and followed. “You gotta say ‘Trick or treat’ too, Eds,” he said as he stopped to stand next to Eddie, at the shelf of the pantry that functioned as the bar, and became immediately distracted. “Holy shit, Ben. Hey, Eddie, you need me to reach those bottles of tequila for you?”

“Fuck you,” Eddie said absently, hands on his hips as he scanned the bottles. “Get that El Padrino—no, the one in the middle, yeah—and… oh shit, the Glenlivet Founders Reserve.”

“Tequila and scotch, Eds?” Richie said, with a low whistle, deciding not to point out that he’d been right about what Eddie could and could not reach. “You sure you can handle that?”

“I didn’t say I’d have them both.”

“You can, though. There’s a cocktail—the Man of Leisure.”

“How do you know that?” Eddie asked, a brow cocked.

Richie shrugged, and said lightly, “I might have spent too much time drinking in college. And bartending. And time at the bar when I first started out in comedy.” Richie could feel Eddie’s eyes on him as he set the bag of candy on the counter and took down the bottles, handing the first two to Eddie, who juggled them with the flashlight, making an impatient huff. Richie pulled down a bottle of Belvedere vodka, too. “Needs lime juice and simple syrup, though…. Might be easier to just pick one and do shots, or sip. Drinking directly from the bottle is also an option, though I don’t recommend it.” He grabbed some red Solo cups, and looked at the levels of liquid in the bottles, the faint dust on them, wondering how long Ben had had them here, how much of them he’d shared with someone else, if any. It was a lonely thought, and when Eddie made his way back to the fire, Richie was only too happy to follow him back to the warmth and light.

“Hey, Eds. Your turn to get candy,” he said, sitting back down on the couch. Setting the bottle of vodka and the Solo cups on the floor, he shook the bag. Eddie frowned in annoyance, setting down his bottles, and held out his hands. “Damn it, Eddie. Say ‘Trick or treat.’ You made _me_ do it!”

Eddie sighed loudly. “Trick or treat.”

“Such enthusiasm. And what are you dressed as, little boy?” Richie held the bag out of reach.

“Go fuck yourself, Richie.”

“Such language. You French your mother with that mouth?”

The mood between them dropped like a rock, and Richie knew his flip cliche joke meant he’d fucked up big time. 

Eddie stared at him, his already big dark eyes getting huge, and Richie knew that he was remembering, just like Richie was, that day back in high school. That day when Eddie had finally groused one too many times about the new friends Richie had made in drama class, and Richie had snapped and told him he was acting like his mother, and Eddie had blanched and told him to get the fuck away from him. And Richie had, and whatever was between them was over. Eddie and his mother moved away, and Richie went to college, and they didn’t see each other until the first Losers reunion. He’d left early, after having arrived late once he’d stopped throwing up, and cried in his hotel room until he fell asleep. He’d woken up with a headache he couldn’t attribute entirely to the drinks he’d had that night. 

Richie winced, preparing for Eddie to tell him to leave the room, to leave the cabin, to leave the state.

Instead, he sighed, sounding tired, and sat down heavily on the couch next to Richie. Richie, for his part, shot to his feet. “I’m— I’ll go—”

“Go where, Rich?” Eddie sounded weary.

“Away. Out.” Richie threw up his hands, and stuffed them in his pockets. 

“Rich. Sit down. That was… a long time ago. It’s… water under the bridge.” Richie dared to look at him, and he looked inexpressibly sad. Richie sat down heavily, like he’d collapsed, and fought the urge to just reach for one of the bottles and down it right there. “We were kids, Richie. It doesn’t matter anymore.” Richie glanced at him again; he was looking into the fire, and something in his eyes told Richie it did still matter, kind of, a little. Richie watched him swallow, and then Eddie added, “I mean, you said what you said, and then you never really talked to me again, so…. But it was still a long time ago.” Eddie finally dragged his gaze over to meet Richie’s. 

Mouth dry, Richie swallowed. “You… you did tell me to get the fuck out.”

Eddie nodded. “Yeah, I did. But Richie, that didn’t mean ‘never speak to me again.’”

“I didn’t…. Eddie, I said something horrible to you. Something I shouldn’t have said. Of course I thought you’d never want to see me again and didn’t want to speak to me.”

“Rich, you should have at least apologized! And… the thing is, too,” Eddie pressed his lips together, looking away for a minute, and then looked back at him. “I was jealous, Rich.”

“Jealous? What the fuck?” Richie was completely confused. “Jealous of who, of what?”

“Your drama friends! That was why you were mad at me in the first place, I was complaining too much about how much you talked about your new drama friends. I was bitching, really, I was a little brat.”

“Jealous?! Why were you jealous of Gary and Megan and Tom? You’re.... You’re Eddie, you have no reason to be jealous of anyone.” Okay, well, that was too great an admission….

“You were spending so much time with them! You wouldn’t shut up about how fun they were, and I just felt like I was… boring, and uptight, and—”

“You were my _boyfriend_ , Eddie, I was in— I was crazy about you!” Richie stared at him, gobsmacked. Eddie looked kind of ridiculous in his vampire costume, forlorn and drawn, but he looked beautiful too, in the firelight, and Richie wanted again to kiss him.

“Yeah, I just….” Eddie shrugged, looking miserable. “I already felt like shit about it, and then, you said that, and I just felt like I was right, I was too boring and weird for you—”

“Eds—”

“—And then you never apologized, and I never really saw you again, and then we moved, and—”

“Eddie, fuck. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry, man. I never meant to— I just— You said to get the fuck away from you, and— I never told you this, but—” He remembered something that hit him like a blow to the chest, and he stopped himself. “Fuck!” He covered his face with his hands.

“Rich?” After a moment of silence, Richie felt Eddie’s hand on his back, tentative. “What is it?” Eddie’s voice was soft.

“No, you don’t…. You don’t want to hear about it,” Richie answered, voice muffled.

“No, I do. Tell me.”

Richie sighed. “One summer, I was in the arcade, you know… playing Street Fighter….” Everyone knew how much Richie loved playing Street Fighter in the movie theater arcade. “And I was playing with this kid, right, and he was really good, and I told him that, and he had to leave but I asked him to play again before I could stop myself, because I really wanted to keep playing with him, and he…. I really did think he was kinda cute, but… the way the look on his face changed, Eddie— He called me a fairy, and then Bowers came in and asked why I was trying to get with his cousin, and he said, ‘Get the fuck out of here, faggot.’ Like, I know it sounds stupid, saying it out like that, like… we were all just kids, I know Bowers was some kind of psychopath, but…. It was just names, I know, but I ran out before they kicked my ass again or something.”

“Rich. Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

“Because, Eddie.” Richie looked over at him, through his fingers. “I didn’t tell _anybody_. More shit to add to the pile. I was a fairy, I was a faggot. I still am. Hell, everyone wrote it on like every damn surface in that town anyway. What were any of you going to do about it? We couldn’t even date openly, Eddie.” He sighed. “I wasn’t telling you this to make you feel sorry for me, man. It just…. When you said that, I remembered him telling me to get the fuck out. It was stupid, that’s all.”

Eddie’s hand rubbed his back. “It wasn’t stupid, Rich. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that to you.”

Richie didn’t want Eddie to stop rubbing his back, but it felt like he was getting away with something. “It’s fine. Like you said, we were kids. Water under the bridge.” With a sigh, Richie took his hands away from his face, and reached for the bottle of tequila and two Solo cups. “I don’t know about you, but I could use a drink.”

Eddie nodded, hand still light on Richie’s back all the way until he moved it to take the Solo cup Richie offered him. 

“Bottoms up,” Richie said, and they both drank. Eddie passed his cup over again, and Richie poured him some more. Eddie sat back, and opened a Krackel; Richie did likewise, but with a Mr. Goodbar. 

Sensing Eddie looking over at him, Richie glanced back, eyebrows raised. Eddie pointed to Richie’s candy bar, smiling, with those little fangs showing. “You always did like those.” The fangs gave him a very slight lisp, but Richie wouldn’t have admitted just how sexy Eddie actually looked with pale makeup and fangs—he was lucky Eddie was a stereotypical silent film vampire and not a sexy True Blood one, or Richie would be in real trouble right about now. Well, he was kind of in trouble anyway.

“What can I say?” Richie commented lightly, around a lump in his throat; Eddie probably remembered the dumbest little things about him, what he liked. “I’m just looking for Mr. Goodbar, baby. One more down the hatch?” He held up the bottle.

Eddie cocked his head in thought. “Yeah,” he finally said. “Then I need to stop.”

“Me too,” Richie said, and poured them each more. He was starting to feel warm now—warm, and good, from the fire, from the tequila, from being so close to Eddie. He sat back, starting to finally relax. After a few moments of quiet, he blurted out, “I missed you so much,” and then inwardly cursed himself. He should have cut himself off earlier. He was nowhere near drunk, but still—too much. Fuck.

“Yeah,” Eddie said softly. “I missed you too,” he added, and put his hand over Richie’s on the couch. Richie went very still, like one movement or one thing he said might scare Eddie off. Eddie’s hand was warm, and finally Richie couldn’t resist anymore and turned his hand over under Eddie’s, breath held. He exhaled when Eddie pressed their palms together, then laced their fingers together with a squeeze. Richie glanced over at him again, and Eddie was looking back. Then Eddie got that determined look in his big brown eyes, and sat up, and leaned toward him, and Richie kept still, and waited, and waited, and closed his eyes, and then sensed Eddie shifting back. Richie blinked, and the look on his face must have communicated _something_ to Eddie, because he looked apologetic. “No! No, Rich, it’s fine, I just—” Eddie paused, and pulled out his fake fangs— “needed to take these out first.”

“You sure?” Richie teased, on a breathless laugh of relief. “That would have been kind of sexy. Even if you’re not a True Blood vampire.”

Eddie scoffed. “Maybe if you’re good, I’ll put them back in later.” He winked. 

Richie felt his eyes widen, but before he could really react to that, Eddie was leaning in again, for good this time, and kissing him. His hand went automatically to Eddie’s side, under his cape, and soon enough Eddie was in his lap, Eddie’s hand cupping his face, lightly probably because of the makeup. It was practically a chaste kiss, but when Eddie sat back, Richie felt practically debauched.

“Jesus,” he got out, and Eddie chuckled softly.

“Rich, do you remember the first time we kissed?” he asked.

“Of course I do. On the floor of my bedroom, on July Fourth. After the parade.” He remembered that well, clear as day sometimes when he thought about it. Richie’s bedroom had been golden with the late afternoon sun, and they were both a little sweaty. They’d had Popsicles on their way back from the parade, and Eddie tasted like the orange one he’d been eating. Not that they’d kissed Like That to the point where Richie could really taste what he’d been eating—they were just thirteen—but… he’d tasted enough. They hadn’t dated yet then, not even secretly, and in fact they didn’t talk about that kiss—Eddie had left shortly thereafter, realizing, with a flush on his face that probably wasn’t entirely due to the hot July day, that his mother was going to wonder where he was soon. Richie had sat in his bedroom on the floor in a daze until his mother called him down for supper. “That was my first kiss,” he added.

Eddie laughed. “No shit, I couldn’t tell.”

“Oh, fuck you.” Richie laughed anyway. “Like it wasn’t yours.”

“It wasn’t!” Eddie protested. 

“Get the fuck out of here.” Richie can’t help a little flare of jealousy. “Who was?”

“Angie McClaskey, the year before. I mean… it was nothing to write home about. We were at some dance, she kissed me, I kissed her again to see if it got better. It didn’t.” Eddie sighed.

Richie could barely remember Angie, thank God. Then he remembered that Eddie had been about to marry a woman, and then, for whatever reason, hadn’t. “Eddie,” he started, “I— You don’t have to tell me, I’m just curious, but…. Are you bi?” He laughed, nervous suddenly, afraid he’d gone too far, because Eddie’s face had fallen a little.

“I’m not,” Eddie said. “I’m gay.”

“What a coincidence,” Richie said, “so am I. Okay, so… why were you going to marry… whatever her name was?” Somehow, saying her name aloud, to Eddie, seemed like a bridge too far.

“Do you want me to talk about this with me sitting in your lap?” Eddie asked, eyebrows raised. “Because I can give you the short version, which is: I thought I wanted to, and then I realized it would be a mistake, so I didn’t.”

Richie nodded. “Okay. Works for me.” Then Eddie kissed him again, still in his lap, and that shut him up. Until Eddie shifted his weight to press Richie back further into the couch, and he broke the kiss to breathlessly blurt out, “Hey, Eds. Convenient that we’re already on our bed, isn’t it?”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “We still have to unfold it and make it, genius.”

“Make it. Ha ha. Get it?” Richie poked Eddie in the side until he twitched in annoyance and shed his cape. “Ooh, baby, take it off. Let me get my dollar bills out.”

“Shut up and help me make the bed,” Eddie said, standing up, to Richie’s dismay. Once he got the sheets out of the closet, he made Richie pull the bed out, and their squabbling over how to best unfold it and put the sheets on—honestly, Eddie could argue about anything, the picky little fuck—distracted Richie from freaking out over what was apparently about to ensue. Once that was done, Eddie stood next to the freshly made bed, took his cape off, and started unbuttoning his shirt.

“Holy shit,” Richie said.

“What?” Eddie asked, with typical pugnaciousness. Underneath his buttonup was an undershirt, which he also pulled off and folded to place with it on one of his suitcases, as Richie stared. 

“Damn, Eddie.”

“What?” Eddie asked, irritable now, looking down at himself, face pink. 

“You…. You look good, man.” Richie gestured with one hand, helpless. 

“I go to the gym, okay?” Eddie said, defensive for reasons Richie couldn’t begin to fathom. Did he assume Richie was going to make fun of him? When he had to know he looked like an underwear model? Okay, maybe not _that_ ripped, but still. Eddie toed off his shoes, and unbuttoned his pants. “Your turn,” he said pointedly to Richie, who was too busy staring at Eddie’s black boxer briefs to pay attention.

“Uh,” Richie replied, clumsily shedding his torn suit jacket, his own buttonup, and his black boots, trying not to fall over. He felt himself turning red as Eddie watched him, hands on his narrow little hips, getting his torn and painted pants off to reveal… his candy corn print boxers. “Me So Corny” was printed all over them.

“Oh my God, Rich,” Eddie said, face scrunching up adorably in laughter, dimples on display again in a merciless show of cuteness, devastating when combined with his near-nakedness.

“In my defense,” Richie said loftily, folding one arm over his bare chest and holding his other hand over his crotch, “I didn’t think anyone would see these.”

“C’mere,” Eddie said, and Richie was helpless to disobey, walking toward him without a word of protest. Eddie cupped his face in both hands and drew him down to kiss him; Richie rested his hands on the sides of Eddie’s arms, touch light like he was afraid to do anything more. God, no matter how long it had been he was always flustered over Eddie. 

Eddie made an impatient noise, pressing the entire front of his body against Richie’s; Richie inhaled sharply, reflexively tightening his fingers on Eddie’s upper arms. Eddie was _hard_. He’d done that, Richie thought to himself, as flummoxed by the idea as if he were a teenager. Sure, back when he actually was a teenager, it had only taken a scowl from Eddie to get him to at least half mast, but… he was a lot older now. Still, seemed that was all it took.

“Rich,” Eddie whispered, “get on the bed.” 

Richie nodded stupidly, and got on the bed. Eddie climbed after him, over him, and Richie achieved his lifelong dream of having Eddie Kaspbrak half naked and on top of him. 

Eddie kissed him again then, fervent, and Richie lay there stunned under the assault until Eddie shifted his weight to one arm and grabbed hold of Richie’s seemingly useless hand, and planted it on his side. Richie might be slow to get a clue, but once he saw the light, he usually got his shit together. He took the cue, and let his hands roam up Eddie’s sides, over his shoulderblades, down to the small of his back; up to cup his face, as Eddie nipped at his jaw, his pulse point, down his neck, over his collarbone. “Now, see,” he got out, breathless, “this would have been a good time for the vampire fangs.”

“Then I’d have to get up again, Rich.”

“But I’m being good.”

Eddie laughed softly, and Richie felt pleased with himself (as well as kind of hopeful that Eddie really would put the fangs back in). Eddie shifted back up to kiss him, and moving on from his disappointment Richie slid his hands down to cup Eddie’s hips. Eddie groaned softly and ground down against him; gasping into the kiss, Richie rolled his hips up and pressed his fingers into Eddie’s firm little body. Eddie shifted his weight off him slightly, and then before Richie could protest Eddie’s hand was working itself through the fly of Richie’s stupid boxers and wrapping around his very lucky dick. Richie shuddered and closed his eyes, and when Eddie laughed low in his throat, giving his neck a little bite, Richie choked out, “Fuck you, dude, that’s not fair.”

“How is it not fair?” Eddie demanded, incredulous. “What the fuck are you talking about.”

“I don’t know!” Richie gasped. “Just… fuck, Eddie!” Eddie was _stroking him_ , for God’s sake, how was he supposed to form sentences and answer questions right now? All he could do, seemingly, was fuck up into his firm grip. “Jesus Christ.”

“It’s just a handjob, dude,” Eddie whispered in his ear, teasing, and Richie decided he was dying, this was how he was going to die. He shuddered all over as Eddie rolled his fingertips over the head of his dick and then went at him again. And he was _kissing his neck_ , and fuck, Richie was going to come in an embarrassingly short time. He wondered suddenly how experienced Eddie was with men who obviously weren’t him, and _oh fuck_ that sent a stab of jealousy weirdly mixed with arousal that he didn’t have time to examine right now, but he managed to make a strangled sound as he made the mistake-slash-amazing-decision of looking down at the head of his dick surrounded by Eddie’s fingers. “Oh, fuck,” he croaked. “Eds, I’m—”

“Yeah, Rich, come on,” was all Eddie had to say, and then for some period of time Richie didn’t know if either of them was saying anything at all because he was coming too hard to know whether anything else was happening. All the other Losers could have been walking in, having finally driven up from Boston, and he wouldn’t know or particularly care. 

“Jesus _fuck_ ,” Richie finally breathed, trembling and groping his way into Eddie’s obscene little boxer briefs, following as Eddie collapsed onto his side, wrapping his hand around him and watching his face go pink and his eyes get bigger, listened to how he started panting as he got close, and then Richie really wanted to watch his face as he came (“O-face,” always a favored expression of his, didn’t seem nearly good enough for Eddie) but he wanted to kiss him more, and decided it was a good decision from the way Eddie gasped and whimpered against his mouth as Richie kissed him like he couldn’t get enough of him, like he never would. Richie immediately committed to memory the broken little sounds Eddie made in his throat as Richie wrung every bit of his orgasm from him, his hand shaking as he relinquished him, his fingers slick with Eddie’s come. 

Eddie promptly collapsed on him with a groan. “I really don’t want to get up,” he said after a few moments, muffled against Richie’s chest. 

“Then don’t,” Richie suggested, stroking his fingertips down Eddie’s back. 

“I have to,” Eddie sighed. “We’re all sticky and we need to clean up before we sleep, which we’re doing right now because I’m fucking exhausted. If Ben doesn’t have washcloths I’ll use my own.” 

“You gonna get out your cold cream, take the makeup off?” Richie half-teased. As he predicted, Eddie tilted his head, considering.

“Nah, fuck it,” Eddie decided. “And I know you don’t give a shit. We’ll do it in the morning. If it gets on the sheets, it gets on the sheets.”

He got up, despite Richie’s further protests, and came back to mop them up. He dropped the cloth he used on the floor, and then flopped onto the bed and scrambled under the sheet. Richie joined him, and Eddie moved to unfold the thick blanket he’d gotten out with the sheets. 

“Please leave that cumrag on the floor,” Richie told him. “Please, just…. The thought of anyone coming in here after we’re gone, we haven’t left any other sign we were here but a cumrag…. God.”

“You’re disgusting,” Eddie informed him as he pulled the blanket over them both, but he didn’t move to pick up the cloth. 

“I know. Shouldn’t we do something with the fire?” Richie asked, uncertain, wondering if he was being stereotypically gay by not knowing what the fuck to do with a fire when you were about to go to sleep.

“I don’t know. Probably?” Eddie said. “Maybe it’ll, like, naturally start to die out.”

“Aren’t you going to get cold, in your stupid little sexy underpants?” Richie asked, as Eddie pushed him into what seemed to be the position he wanted him to be in, on his side, and tucked in behind him.

“Keep me warm, then, you big ape,” Eddie said in answer. “Aren’t _you_ going to get cold in your stupid corny boxers?”

“They worked on you, didn’t they?”

Eddie sighed. “Yeah, I think they did.”

“Score.” Richie punched the air. 

“I thought you said you weren’t expecting anyone to see them.”

“Well, it worked out anyway. I won’t look a gift Eds in the mouth.”

“Ugh,” Eddie said. “You’re the worst. I can’t believe I’m going to get back together with you.”

“I… can’t believe it either,” Richie said, blinking. “But… if you feel we must.”

“We must.” Eddie kissed his ear, rearranged the blankets. “Get the flashlight, turn it off,” he said, and with a groan Richie did, and then waited as Eddie arranged himself behind him again. “Good night, sweetheart,” Eddie said.

Richie said something, probably, he wasn’t sure what, and laid awake wide-eyed in the dark, unable to believe his luck, until the sound of Eddie’s even, peaceful breathing lured him to sleep as well, because wherever Eddie was, Richie knew he belonged there, too.


End file.
